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Saturday, July 4, 2015

My kids should know better by now than to tell me they are
bored during their summer break. Not
only does it instantly turn me into a drill sergeant, barking out orders to re-clean
the windows and bathrooms, but it also sends me into a spiral of what my
childhood days were like. Way back
when. It goes like this:

“Back in my day, we didn’t have all these “camps.”We had one camp.It was called swimming lessons and we went there
at 4:00AM when the pool was barely above freezing and had to wear these awful
swimming caps that were made out of industrial strength rubber that squeezed
your brains, gave you a rash, and made you look like an alien.

And that’s if we were lucky to go.Most of the time we woke up, ate a few bowls
of brightly colored cereal and watched nothing on TV because we had four
channels.Most of the time there was
nothing good on, unless you liked to watch the news, a game show, or reruns of
shows from the 1970’s were everyone had big hair and bigger collars.So we shoveled food in our face and did the
only thing to do.We went outside to
play, without checking the radar.

And guess what?We
didn’t have fancy skateboards, scooters, or electric vehicles so we could take
joy rides around the yard.We had one
mode of transportation: our bikes.With
the giant, uncomfortable banana seats, one gear and chains that fell off and we
had to fix ourselves.And we’d ride them
everywhere—from one game of tag to the next.If we wanted to know if someone wanted to play, we didn’t text or
call.We actually rang their doorbell.

We didn’t have sports clinics, either.There was no such thing as practice or field
time.There was one field.It was called“the street.”And you could play
any sport you want as long as there were no cars driving past.

Our mothers didn’t need to take us anywhere, because there
was nowhere to go.They stayed at home
and talked on their corded phones and made us red fruit punch with real sugar
and something out of a can for lunch.We’d wash it all down with a drink from the hose and a few chocolate
snack cakes covered in frosting, because the sugar was needed to power us
through the afternoon and evening.

There was a quick break for dinner and then we’d all gather
for a dangerous and scary game of hide and seek where we’d try not to leave
anyone left in the shrubbery, but if someone got hurt or cried, we made sure
they were OK.
They usually were OK.
And they were never, ever, bored.
Now go drink some punch and clean the bathroom.”

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Karrie McAllister writes and mothers from Small Town, Ohio, where she is also in the running for having the most unrelated part time jobs. Her column, Dirt Don't Hurt, has appeared on numerous Web sites and newspapers since 2005, and this blog is how she keeps track of them all until she can publish another book. Contact her at KarrieMcAllister [at] aol.com